


Sugar & Spice

by APgeeksout



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Affection, Apologies, Apple Pie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 22:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12691350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: "What kind of monster do you people think I am?” he asked, offense turned up to 11, ready for Raw, or at least a morning zoo show. “Messing with another man's pie. Honestly!"A little fluff about the apple pie incident. <3





	Sugar & Spice

"That's good," Brie said. "You don't want to overwork it, or it'll get tough."

"Good for a wrestler, but not for a pie crust?"

"Something like that." She smiled and spread a piece of plastic wrap out on the counter alongside the lump of dough. "Roll it up in a big ball for now and keep it cold until you're ready to use it.”

Roman followed her lead, wrapping the dough in a layer of plastic, and started sweeping the stray flour from the counter into his palm while she made room for it in her fridge for now.

Nikki appeared in the doorway, baby Birdie balanced on her hip. “That all looked like a lot of work; you sure there's not a less-fattening way to apologize?”

“You'll break the dough into equal pieces and roll them out flat when you're ready to fill them,” Brie continued, pointedly ignoring her sister, who winked at Roman across the kitchen island.

“And you say the filling is easy?” he asked, and moved to rinse the crumbs of dough and dusting of flour from his hands at the sink.

“Yeah; It's all written down here." She held up a card, and he could make out _Empanadas_ printed in the top margin in her bubbly handwriting. "And you can even improvise a little. Add a taste of whatever sounds good in the moment. It's pretty fool-proof.”

“Good.” He sighed. “'Cause I've been a big damn fool.”

“Ooh!” Nikki exclaimed, coming further into the room. “So, is this you confessing to the apple pie thing?”

"What kind of monster do you people think I am?” he asked, offense turned up to 11, ready for Raw, or at least a morning zoo show. “Messing with another man's pie. Honestly!" He chuckled and dried his hands. “For real,” he said, taking a stool at the counter and watching Brie pour three deep glasses of honey-colored wine, “I'm not even sure where the pie thing came from.”

“Popeye's, from what he's been telling the interviewers,” Nikki piped up, carefully sitting down in front of her glass while Birdie drowsed against her shoulder.

He raised his glass to her in a toast. “I don't remember putting an extra pie in my face, but y'all know I like to eat. I guess it could've happened." He shrugged and took a sip, cold and fruity and sweet. "Other hand, look, Dean's my boy, but you know how he just talks sometimes.”

The sisters exchanged a look that said they knew all about how Dean's mouth could run and knew even more about how much Roman loved listening to it go.

"You think he's just making up a funny story for the podcasts, then?" Brie asked.

"Nah, not exactly." He shook his head and took a deeper drink of the wine, sharper now than it'd seemed on the first taste. “I think I cut him up, and he's telling goofy stories so he doesn't spill to them what he's actually worked up about."

"What'd you do?" Nikki wondered.

"Nothing, which is kind of the problem." At their curious looks, he went on. "I tried to give him a little space when Seth started coming back around again. Wanted him to make his choices about that for him, not for me, you know? And then I got all wrapped up in throwing down with someone's fiancé." 

Nikki raised an eyebrow at him and took a long, dignified sip from her wineglass. 

"And Dean was going through his own stuff, and then I looked up, and we were half-ass feuding. About pie.”

"At least you picked up on him being upset before he got to the point of laying you out on pay-per-view?" Brie offered ruefully, and she and Nikki shared a complicated look that Roman was pretty sure was a whole conversation. One that wasn't about him and Dean. 

After a moment, just before he judged that the quiet would turn off awkward, he continued, "So, I want to make him something sweet. Pour out a little time on him."

"Make it up to him, no matter what 'it' is," Brie said, nodding. "It's a nice thought."

"Sure," Nikki agreed with a mischievous grin. "I'm just saying, there're probably things you could do with those hands that he'd enjoy a lot more than crimping a pie crust."

"Nicole, cover my daughter's ears if you're going to go down that road," Brie said, her tone scolding, though she was also smiling fondly. 

"Your mommy thinks I'm being inappropriate, Birdie-girl," Nikki cooed at the sleepy baby nestled against her chest, "but I bet Roman knows I'm right."

"Could be I'll need both." He chuckled. "You know my boy's got layers."

* * *

Roman was relieved to find that the filling _was_ pretty fool-proof: apples, butter, sugar, flour, spices. On a whim he'd added a healthy pour of cinnamon whiskey from the bottle in Dean's freezer. 

It had taken longer than he'd planned to get into town and make his grocery run and get started in the kitchen, but he'd still managed to get the tray of little half-moon shaped pastries into the warm oven before he heard Dean's car in the drive. He leaned against the kitchen doorframe, where Dean would be sure to see him when he crossed the threshold, and waited for his boy, suddenly nervous in a way he hadn't been while patting out dough or peeling Granny Smiths. 

Dean came in dragging a roller bag in one hand, and holding his phone to his ear with the other. "Hello, Officer? Need to report a break-in. There's a strange man using my oven." He pocketed the phone and kicked the front door shut behind him. 

"Not a break-in if you gave me a key, babe," he said, pushing away from the wall to cut the distance between them by a couple of steps. 

"Technicalities." Dean brought a hand up to rake through his hair and rub at the back of his neck. He looked tired and wound tight, and it opened up a hole in Roman's gut to know that he had put some of the weight on his shoulders and tension around his eyes.

"... you want it back?" 

"Don't be an asshole," Dean scoffed. 

"Too late for that." He drew a few steps closer, almost close enough to touch, if he knew it was welcome. 

"Maybe." Dean shrugged, his throat working. "Too late for both of us, I guess."

"I'm sorry." He gave up on waiting for an invitation, just tipped forward and wrapped his arms around Dean, who stiffened but didn't jerk away just yet. "If I quit giving you what you need, talk to me -- hell, scream at me, knock my ass down, whatever it takes. You ain't gonna run me off that easy." Dean relaxed just a hair at that, one of his own arms looping around Roman, fist pounding erratically against his back. "I don't like figuring out too late that I hurt you."

They were quiet together for a minute, with the fight slowly leaking out of Dean, and Roman holding on tighter the more he loosened up against him. Dean's head sagged onto his shoulder, so his voice was muffled when he finally asked, "So, what are you making me?"

"Heard I owe somebody an apple pie." 

Dean laughed a jagged note at that, and Roman let his hand settle over the back of his bowed head, fingers combing into tangled curls.

"How much time we got?" Dean asked, straightening in his arms, pulling back a little. 

"As long as you want me for," he said solemnly. "Or, 'bout twenty minutes on the pies, if that's what you meant," he added, watching Dean's face shift through surprise and amusement and affection.

"C'mere," he said gruffly, draping both arms around Roman's neck, tugging him closer again. "Wanna kiss the cook. Rumor is, he tastes like cinnamon."


End file.
